Questions We Both Know
No matter have many hits.
No matter how hard,
He would not respond.
Why? I am ignorant to that answer
But determination will turn that around.
They dragged him to her.
Bruised and beaten,
But his eyes were anything other than defeated.
Why? I am ignorant to that answer
But determination will turn that around.
She kept herself together.
Because that is what they taught her.
But close the doors and leave only two souls to remain,
One broken, the other conquered.
She will shed her tears.
Her tears that will dissolve him and rebuild him.
Why? I am ignorant to that answer
But determination will turn that around.
His body was raked against the cold cobblestones. But they were not near as cold and frozen as the ones that were in the prison that he chose for himself. Never again will he go to him. He had taught him nothing. She was right…
Another punch to the face, a fist in the gut, a hand around his neck and his back met the stones. Oh how firm it was, unlike him: unpredictable.
His breath was raged and his scared were bold. Just like his actions.
"Damn it!" his fist was clutched, ready to be pulled back and swing with power. "We all had dreams." They both know who the we were; only three. "We still have dreams but we went about them with honour." He jerked him by the neck. He was not responding and so that was just infuriating.
The guard door was haled open indicating that his interrogating time was up. Naruto let Sasuke drop to the floor and spun out on his heels. Sasuke let his head roll back and make contact with the wall behind him. He would stay here, but not forever, he knew this. They would never kill him they couldn't for multiple reasons. He had not harmed the village, he had helped it; protected it. They needed him and they knew this but would never say it to his face. It was weakness. Weaknesses were worthless. He would not stay in this room for long but he still hated it.
Heels ticked along the cool stones, she gave a small nod of the head; that is all she needs for access because of her rank.
She was not allowed to heal him or interrogate him. Why would she be allowed to talk to him? She didn't care. Some call her crazy. She calls them heartless. Everyone needs someone or you'll turn out like him. And he was someone.
She hurried her way down the dimly light corridors. Her hair ruffled behind her, hair that he still remembers. She counted reach door, the smugged and worn numbers were too difficult to make out. Finally reaching it, she shoved her shoulder up against it, planter her feet, pushed, and number 225 was opened.
Her heart ached for him. He was stretched out, one let at full length, his arm propped up on the knee of the other, sitting in the only slant of light coming from a box cut out in the high wall. Both his fists were clutched tight, nails digging in, the veins in his arm pulse. In her heart, he was a fallen saint.
There were no shackles or chains but she could see that he was trapped and torn. Trapped in his ghostly mind. Torn on what to do, whom to let in. His head was leaning back and he swallowed as if is throat was parched. She instantly wished she brought water with her. He was not as grubby as someone in his state should be, but there were visible stubbles down his red bruised neck. He was still handsome even with purple cheeks, bloody lip, and a cut on his brow.
She took a tentative step, he didn't move, she continued cautiously. She knew he knew it was she but he was stone still, knowing well enough that she would total the distance no matter what. She at last neared him and crouched at his beaten side. Those bastards, she thought, heal him well then turn around and redo the damage. She lifted the cloth she brought with her and ever so gently, because that is all she knows: gentle, she dabbed at the corner of his tense mouth. Stupid, stupid, she cursed herself, no water. She continued with the rest of his face, away with the blood and sweat, away with hatred.
He flinched when she brushed over his chest. She looked down and seeping thought the cloth was dark liquid. She ripped the remaining of the cloth and stopped breathing. Four claw scratches adored his firm torso courtesy of Naruto. She'll have to give a really talking to him, how could he? Discarding his reaction every time she dabbed, she cleared all the blood and brought up her left hand. It glowed like her eyes and she set it on his chest.
This time he lifted his eyes, piercing hers. She looked away. Her small hand was warm against his. She's nothing like him. Everything about her enlightened him. She stated to withdraw her hand until he grasped her wrist. She looked at him, her eyes held puzzlement, amongst other feelings.
"Sakura." Was all he breathed in his gruff deep voice.
"I umm I, your side is bad." She could not look into his face. He wanted her to. "You might have broken ribs."
He let go and she resumed. This time he never took his eyes off her face; she could feel his burning gaze.
"I once took my mom with me to Ino's flower shop. She instantly fell in love with plants and gardening." Talking about irrelevant things made everything much more easier. Sakura continued. "She loved rose bushed the most though. Not just because roses are romantic flowers."
"Why?" Was all he asked.
Startled, she looked up for an instant then, dropped her gaze. "You never have to replant them. They die but in the next year pink roses bloom more than the last." She finished with his ribs. "They always have a time to shine, they leave but when they come back…" She trailed off. "That is what makes them so beautiful." She looked up, into his face, not his eyes.
She sat there fumbling with the fabric of his shirt for some time, again avoiding eye contact.
"She likes them because they are pink." Sakura froze. Had he just complement her? Sasuke smirked. He knew what would get to her. He knew her better than any of them. They told him that when he left she never laughed, never smiled ever. They said nothing could fix her. He has already got her blushing.
He looked at her slim hands that have just healed his wounds, but not all of then. There was still a long way for that.
"Why?" He was longing for answers, answers of who he was. "Why do you still do these things for me?"
"What things?" Sakura too needed answers.
"Don't start." He looked at her as firmly as he said it. "You know very well what I'm talking about. Why did you heal me? Why did you come?"
Sakura knew what was coming next and both knew it was true. He lifted her chin. There was no other way to say it.
"Why do you still love me?" That question was killing him the most, not like he was not already dead. It burned he needed to identify the reason.
Why was he talking so much? Why was he asking so many difficult questions? This was her part. She was the one that talked that is why she is annoying. She couldn't bear it any more. Did he think her annoying because she came to him when his was tired and wanted to be alone? Did he hate her even more because she started to blab and go on about her mother and flowers?
Sakura leaned over him to get the dirty cloth and turned her head to leave. Sasuke sat up strait and held her fast around the waist. She let out a small gasp before her face made contact with his chest and she breathed in his musky sent.
All the answers became clear: He let Naruto beat on him because he deserved it, because that was his only means of saying sorry, because it was Naruto who did the thrashing. She did these things for him because she loves him. She loves him because he is her Sasuke and he is that someone that needed to be warmed, he needed her to keep him sane and together. He needed her because who else would he come home to?
And they sat holding each other and understanding that she was saying 'I love you' and he was saying 'I'm sorry. Forgive me. I need you.' He pressed his lips to her forehead and she pressed hers to his rough chin. They finally understood one another.
KHALAS
(A/N): This is a change on how I usually right. I tried to describe people's feeling instead of their surrounding. I know the ending is not that good and it could be made better. I was just getting lazy and I was tired and my back was aching so ya… sorry I'm just like this.
D: Be serious, I'm in high school and don't even have a cell phone. Not kidding.
I wrote everything that is written here, and the story idea is mine and so is the cheap little poem.
Review D